


Worthy of Investment

by tinknevertalks



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Angst, Could be seen as character study, Episode Tag - End of Nights pt2, Episode Tag - Sanctuary For None pt2, Episode Tag - The Five, Gen, Helen Magnus/Nikola Tesla (pre-ship), Mention of Canonical Character Death, Motherhood, Past Helen Magnus/James Watson, Past Montague John Druitt/Helen Magnus, Post Discovery of Jack the Ripper, Super self-indulgent in places, The Five minus John, oxford era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-11 06:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13518045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinknevertalks/pseuds/tinknevertalks
Summary: There are five things worthy of investment in life. These are Helen's.





	1. Leather Jackets

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I'm given time to chill on Tumblr - I find a brilliant post that's meant to big up women and awesomeness, and I write a Sanctuary fanfic. Obsession, thy name is Rach. Anyways, [this is the post](https://arabellesicardi.com/post/100556521176/things-worthy-of-investment-leather-jackets-good) that got me thinking, so each chapter is something worthy of investment. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> And, as always, my deepest thanks to my delightful beta reader Rinari7, who pokes me when I jump between viewpoints. :D

Her first leather jacket had been a gift. She had not long discovered John’s “involvement” in the Ripper case, and found herself on the precipice of scandal - to be engaged to a killer of whores was one thing, but to carry that deviant’s bastard child? Despite the child’s heritage, Helen knew she couldn’t rid herself of her… Him? But she couldn’t have the child now. John knew about her “condition” and had all but promised to hunt her forever; how could she countenance bringing a child into that sort of environment? 

However, she and James, with Nigel and Nikola’s help, had devised a way for her to freeze the embryo. (With the inclusion of the Source Blood serum into her own body, she, somehow, felt the embryo’s heartbeat. With that and her last month’s menses missed, she knew she was with child.) They had barely little time, but her gentle men, her dearest friends, had worked tirelessly.

She’d almost cried with gratitude.

Later, no longer pregnant but with a viable embryo safely hidden on the grounds of her Sanctuary, alone save for her own thoughts and misgivings (Nigel was a brilliant chemist, and Nikola otherworldly with his electricity, but both were still human, to a degree, and mistakes could be made), a box was delivered to her rooms. Plain white, but with a definite weight to it when she picked it up.

The person who sent it knew her, as there was a note. 

Persons, as the note decreed. They may be a quartet now, but they were still her closest friends. Opening the box, she gasped as she took the jacket out. Holding it against her body, she delighted in its length. Perhaps it would serve her well in her line of work; some Abnormals had sharp teeth, sharper than Nikola’s vampire fangs.

The second jacket, and each thereafter, she bought herself. The smell always transported her back to that moment, in her rooms, when she realised she loved her three gentlemen.

(It wasn’t until her loop she understood what had happened to it. Now it was a short jacket, kept hidden away in a cupboard in the new Sanctuary. She’ll wear it again, one day.)


	2. Good Lingerie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helen's in Rome, readying herself for the afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello episode tag to _The Five_. (Hellooooo Nikola Tesla.)
> 
> (And as before, thank you to Rinari7 for the beta... But any mistakes you find? All mine.)

Out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, Helen padded into her rooms. She was giving a lecture at five o’clock on Abnormals and the increase in numbers over recent years, then meeting with Sofia for an early dinner. Helen licked her lips, feeling her cheeks flush just a bit - she hadn’t seen Sofia in a few years, and their last meeting had been exquisite. Opening a drawer, she sighed as her fingertips brushed through the silk, satin and lace, delighting in the changing sensations.

Navy blue bra, matching knickers, lace. No reason to needlessly ruin the lines of her outfit. Picking them from the drawer, she closed it with a push of her hip.

Stockings? Shaking her head (she had a pair of peep toe shoes near the door, ready to wear), she skipped them. It was warm enough without, and the sheer ones she had brought with her had snagged on something in her luggage.

Towelling off, underwear on, she was momentarily struck by a wave of something akin to nostalgia. A hundred and thirty years ago, she’d be stuck asking a maid to assist her in dressing. Fifty years ago, she’d have a girdle with her knickers and bra under her dress, as well as a handy gun. Now she could enjoy her freedom with nary a corset in sight.

Although, she did miss the way she could hide a knife in her busk, and the bound feeling the corset provided. Heavy, squeezing hands couldn’t grab her waist and pinch when she wore that armour. 

(The only lasting hurts she had then were the emotional kind, and they left scars all their own.)

Hours later, after her run in with Tesla and his brainless drones, and Ashley discovering her heritage, Helen stared out the window, sitting in silk on the sofa. A cup of tea warmed her hands, as Ashley slept on in her bed. She should have known the moment she couldn’t find her sandals that something wasn’t right. And for Nikola bloody Tesla to show up? As well as John teleporting in and “saving” the day. She sighed, sipping her tea.

Bloody men.

She missed dinner with Sofia. “Another time, perhaps,” she had murmured apologetically in Italian down the phone, looking at her wrecked knee high boots. Her clothes had been thrown, in a fit of pique, into the hamper. She growled in frustration: at Nikola Tesla (his _I love you_ still ringing in her ears, even if it was a ploy); at John Druitt (a hand through the vampire’s stomach? Really?); and at her own selfish, self confident faux superiority. Had she just told Ashley the truth, made sure John could never find them, left Tesla to his own devices, she’d be breakfasting with a scintillating companion, rather than simmering in her own impotent anger.

“Waste of a decent pair of knickers,” she muttered darkly, chucking back the dregs of her now cool tea.


	3. Perfume

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scent of a woman is always important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit short, but we can just pretend it's sweet because of it. :D
> 
> (Thank you Rinari7. XD)

At Oxford she wore a perfume of violets and jasmine. Heads would turn as she entered the room, not just because of her sex. Half the sniffing noises her critics bestowed her were firmly enmeshed with her floral scent dancing around them. It was almost as if they wanted to drown in her as they dragged her down for daring to dream.

After the Source Blood she changed from her favoured blend of flowers to jasmine alone.

Lilies when she called off her engagement to John – sickly sweet to cover the imagined stench of blood and death.

Roses with James in London - feminine, traditional, completely perfunctory.

Vanilla alone in Old City. As time marched by, heads still turned, noses still sniffed appreciatively, she still commanded attention.

(“I love your room, mom,” Ashley said, smiling, only eight years old at the time. “It smells like you.”)


	4. Foundation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helen's routine in the morning and at bed time after End of Nights. (Mention of canonical character death be here!) (Drabble.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, the penultimate chapter, having an episode tag to _End of Nights_ (part 2). Obviously, because of what happens in this episode, I mention Ashley.
> 
> And my deepest thanks to Rinari7. Thank you lovely! :)

Each night, before bed, Helen would wash her face, brush her teeth, and tie up her hair. She wasn’t one for sleeping much, especially now Ashley was… Helen refused to even countenance the word ‘dead’. 

There wasn’t a body.

Every morning, she’d shower, brush her teeth, put on her face. No-one saw the dark circles under her eyes, the freckles dusting her nose, the scar along her jawline. The uneven skin tone ( _so pink in places_ ) now smoothed out, a perfect base for her work mask.

If no-one could see the cracks, she could pretend she was whole until bed.


	5. Your Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was the culmination of 113 years of hard work, and it was the best feeling ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, the final chapter. After the angst of the previous one this should ping every happy spot. Here's the super self indulgent, _Sanctuary for None_ tag chapter, and if you squint there's some pre-ship Teslen (cause, come on, after that kiss there would be something there) and some family bonding that Helen needs after all that stress.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing, each one has put a smile on my face (which I've totally needed because of this stupid cold I seem to have caught) and yeah.
> 
> And thank you one last time (in this fic anyways) to Rinari7, because I do need reminding that an active voice is much better than a passive one. XD Thank you lovely!

Aching, slightly singed and buzzing from all the adrenaline, she turned to Henry and Nikola. They had been wandering the catacombs, the explosion still ringing in their ears, when she found them. With a hand signal and a quirk of her eyebrow, she bade them follow her. Through corridors and sewers, she led them further and further away from the fireball that had been home, all the while feeling their closeness and confusion heavy on her back.

A door.

A smile over her shoulder as they entered the caves.

A grin when they finally saw her century long project. Henry’s eyes went wide, like saucers, whilst Nikola’s jaw dropped. His whole demeanour changed; charged tension melted into awed understanding. They followed as she walked, drinking in the vista, still a bit confused as to why she had them here. Her (their?) new home glittered in the distance. “Welcome to the Sanctuary, gentlemen. The kitchen and the library are on the ground floor, a lab for each of you on the first floor--”

“Each?” Henry squeaked.

Helen grinned, two parts indulgent, one part fearful. “Yes Henry, each. I had hoped…” She didn’t finish the sentence, the thoughts interrupted as Henry did the one thing that would communicate all his feelings.

“You’re not dead,” he cried as he hugged her hard, his hands grabbing fistfuls of her jacket.

Her eyes misted over, as she wrapped her arms around him, rubbing his back with her hands. “No, I’m not, and I’m so glad I can finally share everything with you.” She dragged her gaze from Henry’s wet eyes to Nikola’s face, and smiled. “Both of you.”

A spark of hope flashed through his features, unknowingly reflected in Helen’s own. She grinned, relieved.

Later, in what Nikola would come to lovingly refer to as her hideaway - a small, secluded nook in the library, with a window seat that overlooked the waterfall - he remarked, “Well, if you’re gonna dream, dream big.”

Helen laughed, the champagne and relief lowering her inhibitions. She had almost been afraid when they finally arrived at the building to Ashley and Gregory arguing in the entrance hall, Rana sitting on the stairs, shaking her head and Chuck walking by. Henry just gaped, having been prepped slightly for the surprise, whilst Nikola touched her back, letting her know he was there. Now, alone in their bubble, they sat close together, legs almost touching as they flirted into the night. 

Yes, this was the best culmination of everything she’d dreamed of since her fateful trip to 1898.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Lucky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14138001) by [tinknevertalks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinknevertalks/pseuds/tinknevertalks)




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